


that all depends on what you qualify as friends

by corgasbord



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Canon, Self-Harm, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, please note the tags; this isn't a happy fic, weird dreams happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 02:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corgasbord/pseuds/corgasbord
Summary: [MAJOR NDRV3 SPOILERS]The survivors of the 53rd killing game try to move on with their lives. Some of them find ways to cope.Shuuichi decides that he'd rather escape altogether, be it through dreams or death.





	that all depends on what you qualify as friends

**Author's Note:**

> this is a project i've been working on for a while now, based off of [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11045412) by a good friend of mine. while this is a companion fic that doesn't require you to read it first, i highly recommend it!
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: obviously, the content in this fic is very heavy. the first scene in particular portrays a suicide attempt, and shuuichi experiences suicidal depression throughout, because recovery is a bumpy road that never goes steadily up towards improvement. he has some ups and he has a lot of downs, so if the negative and dark nature of the story is likely to upset you then i don't recommend reading it. please stay safe!

Shuuichi doesn’t make it halfway through December without thinking that he shouldn’t be around to ring in the new year.

He stands in front of the bathroom sink at three in the morning with a bottle of sleeping pills, pointedly avoiding his reflection in the mirror, and decides that instead of taking his nightly doses of prescribed medications, he’ll put all of the weeks he spent in a hospital after the end of _Dangan Ronpa_ to waste.

With every pill he chokes back around a cup of tap water, he thinks of another reason to go through with it, hardening his resolve.

 _One._ He deserves it. That’s the most obvious reason, right? He’s responsible, however indirectly, for the deaths of thirteen people.

 _Two._ And on that note, there are plenty among those who died who should have made it out instead of him. He’s sure Kaito could have handled this outcome better, and that Himiko and Maki would be happier if he’d survived instead. Kaede, too - Kaede deserved to live, and Shuuichi should have taken the fall for her from the very beginning.

 _Three._ Even many of the viewers agreed that Kaede should have lived in his place. Kaede had a backbone, at least; Kaede was strong and resourceful and levelheaded and all of the things he wasn’t, all of the things he still isn’t.

 _Four._ Plus, Himiko and Maki will be better off without him around, sulking and adding to the depressing atmosphere. It’s not as though he contributes anything but one third of the rent, anyway.

And so on and so forth, until he swallows his eleventh pill and remembers the possibility that he’ll see his dead friends again and nearly throws up all of his progress into the sink.

He doesn’t, though. He forces back the bile rising in his throat and grimaces at the burn it leaves, then chugs the remainder of the water in his cup along with two more pills. Two plus eleven equals thirteen, and thirteen sleeping pills equals numbness and sluggish movements and shaking hands, and thirteen also equals the number of people who died, so really, everything works out perfectly. Isn’t that funny?

He kneels in the bathtub fully clothed and draws a matching red line on each of his forearms. It doesn’t hurt much, oddly enough, but he still feels his stomach churn as his blood runs and tints the water pink.

Dimly, he wonders how his companions will react when they find him. A pang of guilt hits him with the realization that he’s leaving his remains for them to clean up, but there’s no turning back now, not when he’s bleeding out in the bathtub and it’s becoming harder for him to see straight with every minute that passes.

He doesn’t feel himself tipping forward, doesn’t feel his head hit the side of the tub on the way down, doesn’t feel the tainted water lapping at his sides and filling his lungs. Shrill screams echo through the apartment, but his world has gone dark, and he feels absolutely nothing.

\------

He sits up with a start at a very familiar dining table, and with a very familiar face positioned across from him.

“Oh, Saihara-chan! You’re finally awake!”

Shuuichi can only stare in disbelief as Kokichi Ouma cheerfully takes a bite from a bowl of ice cream. But Kokichi Ouma is dead, and has been for a few months now. Does this mean that Shuuichi was dreaming that whole time? Or could it be that he’s really…

“Where am I?” he asks, deciding not to finish that train of thought.

Kokichi tilts his head. “Huh? That’s a weird question. I mean, isn’t it obvious?”

“I’m serious, Ouma-kun. Just answer me.”

“We’re obviously in the Gifted Inmate Academy’s dining hall. But…” Kokichi hums around another spoonful of strawberry ice cream. “Hmm. I suppose it would be more accurate to say it’s something like purgatory.”

 _Purgatory._ The word sinks into his brain slowly, and he’s still trying to process it when Kokichi pipes up again. “Okay, that was a lie. Saying this place is like purgatory would be like saying that you’re dead, and you’re not!”

“I’m… I’m not?” Shuuichi repeats dumbly.

“Nope! After all, I’m just a figment of your imagination. If you were dead, I wouldn’t be here,” Kokichi says.

“Why should I trust anything you say?” Shuuichi asks with a suspicious frown. “Even if I were dreaming, why would I dream about you, of all people?”

“Maybe my beloved Saihara-chan misses me more than he cares to admit?” Kokichi suggests, flashing Shuuichi a sly grin. Shuuichi gives him a withering glare in return, prompting him to giggle. “Oh, or maybe you feel bad for me, having died the way that I did. Either way, I’ve clearly been on your mind to some degree!”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Kokichi sighs and twirls his spoon between his fingers. “Maaan, you’re as harsh as ever, Saihara-chan. You really haven’t changed a bit!”

Shuuichi doesn’t respond. If this Kokichi really is just a figment of his imagination, there should be no need to engage him. He would rather wake up, or at least have this surreal dream take him somewhere else.

But his wishes go unheard, and Kokichi keeps talking, his expression suddenly serious. “But, then again… as harsh as you are to me, you’re even harder on yourself, aren’t you?”

Shuuichi’s fists clench. “Shut up.”

“You’re only saying that because you know I’m right. Because if you were kinder to yourself, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now, would you?”

“Shut _up_ , Ouma-kun.”

“It’s easier to embrace a gentle lie, isn’t it? I know that better than anyone. But you… you’re above that, and we both know it. How long will it take for you to wake up and face the music?”

“Shut up!” Shuuichi shouts, his hands clamping down over his ears and his eyes screwing shut. But even if he can block out the sound of Kokichi’s voice, he can’t get rid of the voices in his own head.

 _Ouma-kun is right_ , they say. _Nothing has changed. After all this time, you’re still a coward. And you’ll remain a coward until you can wake up._

That’s all he hears, ringing in his head loud enough to drown out his anguished cries.

_Wake up, Shuuichi. Wake up._

\------

Shuuichi’s eyes snap open, only to be assaulted by light so bright that it makes the pounding in his head unbearable. He closes them again with a groan that aggravates his painfully dry throat even further, and only one thought swims to the surface of his tortured consciousness.  
_I should have died._

Himiko or Maki must have saved him. He hadn’t expected anyone to find him until morning - in other words, until it was too late - and he can’t help wishing that they hadn’t. The fact that they cared enough to keep him alive makes him feel more guilt than relief, because it means that not only has he upset them, but now he’ll have to face them again. He’ll have to try and string together an apology, along with some kind of justification for his actions, some good reason as to why he attempted to abandon them and become another corpse for them to carry.

His barely lucid thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Tentatively, he cracks his eyes open again and does his best to survey his surroundings. The steady, mechanical beeping of the heart monitor next to him had been enough to tip him off that he’s in a hospital bed, and one look confirms this. There’s an IV on his opposite side, and when he glances down to check where the needle is embedded, he sees bandages running up to his elbows. Just like that, all of his former nausea returns, even though there’s nothing in his stomach for him to vomit.

His attention is diverted from how sick he feels, however, when the curtain is drawn back. A stunned nurse meets his gaze, and her eyes go wide. “Oh- you’re awake!”

Shuuichi evaluates her, pursing his chapped lips. Then, in a voice raspy with disuse, he asks, “How… how long have I been unconscious?”

“About four days now,” the nurse informs him, stepping over to his side to peer at the EKG readings. “You lost quite a bit of blood, and had fluid in your lungs, too. We were only able to move you out of the intensive care unit yesterday.” Then she gives him a pointed look and adds, “You were very lucky to survive that, you know.”

Shuuichi has to stop himself from saying that he wasn’t lucky, not in the slightest. Instead, he gives her a bleary nod of feigned agreement and lets her go about her business.

She asks him more questions as she checks his vitals and the fluid levels in his IV - how is he feeling overall, is there any persisting pain or numbness, et cetera. He answers each one almost mechanically, and when she’s done everything she can she tells him she’s going to go fetch the doctor. Once again he nods along, because he’s absolutely powerless and it’s all he can do.

God, how he’s grown to hate hospitals.

\------

When sleep finds him again, Shuuichi only knows that he’s dreaming because Kokichi is back and perched on the end of his hospital bed.

“Wow, Saihara-chan,” he muses, fake concern saturating his tone, “you don’t look so good!”

Shuuichi casts him a look of irritation, but doesn’t reply.

Kokichi pouts. “Aww, why the cold shoulder? I’m really worried about you, you know.”

“No, you’re not.” Shuuichi stares up at the ceiling again. “And you’re not real, either.”

“Well, I’m real enough, aren’t I? Real enough to hold a conversation, at least,” Kokichi says. He shifts closer, sitting up on his knees and leaning over Shuuichi’s immobilized form. “Real enough for you to be really insecure.”

Shuuichi tries not to flinch. “Leave me alone.”

“Is being left alone what you really want?” He can feel Kokichi’s eyes on him, making his skin crawl. “That’s a genuine question, by the way. I never was able to figure you out completely - though, if I had to guess, I’d say you don’t want to be left alone. Hell, you’re probably terrified of being left alone! But you’d prefer that to being stuck talking to me of all people, right?”

Shuuichi’s lip curls, causing a smug grin to break out on Kokichi’s face. “Oh, did I hit the bullseye?”

“Are you really surprised that I don’t feel like talking to you after what you did?” Shuuichi asks, tone icy.

“Hm. No, I guess I can’t say that I am,” Kokichi readily admits. “Still, I’m here for a reason. I mentioned it before, remember? You never got the closure you wanted.”

Shuuichi looks at Kokichi again with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You would know already, wouldn’t you?” Kokichi says. “Actually… this could all just be speculation on my part. After all, I’m just a memory. It’s not like I really know what’s going on in your head!”

“Shouldn’t you, though? I mean, if you’re really a product of my subconscious.”

Kokichi raises his eyebrows. “My, you’re asking so many questions all of a sudden, Saihara-chan! I thought you didn’t want to talk to me! So much for the textbook tsundere act, I suppose.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Shuuichi reiterates. “But… I do want to understand.”

“Oh?” Kokichi bends ever closer, peering down at Shuuichi with round, earnest eyes. “And what is it that you want to understand, Saihara-chan?”

“A lot of things. But… mostly why this is happening to me, I guess.”

“Hm. Well, it’s not like I’d know,” Kokichi says with a shrug. Then he sits back on his heels and places his hand over Shuuichi’s, wrapping his small, cold fingers around it. “Would you wish this on someone else- even me? Would it be better if, say, I were alive, and you were the one haunting my dreams instead?”

When Shuuichi doesn’t respond, Kokichi lifts his hand, holding it delicately in his own and running his thumb over Shuuichi’s bony knuckles, and Shuuichi wants to swat him away but the gesture has him paralyzed. “You know- and this isn’t a lie, by the way- you’re the only one who would be able to. But…” A slow, saccharine smile spreads across his lips, sickly sweet enough to make Shuuichi ill. “I wouldn’t trade places with you even if I could.”

And now Shuuichi can’t tell what’s real or what’s fake anymore, because Kokichi’s words leave him as hollow as he’s ever been, and the feeling of their thin, pallid hands locked together like a promise is as tangible as the unbroken beating of his heart.

\------

Shuuichi thinks of Kokichi whenever his hands feel too cold. He plays the dead boy’s words over and over again in his head and finds himself wondering, just as he did when Kokichi was alive, how much of what he said was true. He wonders why it even matters. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe dwelling on it just happens to be preferable to staring at the peeling plaster on the walls for hours on end.

He’s decided against seeing visitors, because he doesn’t want Himiko and Maki to see him like this. More cowardice on his part, really. Maybe one of these days he’ll actually confront his problems like the man he’s always wanted to be, the man he’s been told he isn’t time and time again.

But that day won’t come anytime soon. When a nurse comes to deliver a stack of his normal clothes, clean and neatly folded, and informs him that one of his friends left them for his recovery with wishes for him to get well soon, it hits him again just how much he doesn’t deserve them. He’s a burden, and all he’s done is worry them, and he shouldn’t even bother going back because he’ll be nothing but a waste of air.

His eyes start to water again, and when he’s alone at last he can’t help thinking that he should stay that way, because he’s sunken farther than ever and he’ll be damned if he drags his only living friends down with him.

\------

Shuuichi stands in the middle of the courtroom from his nightmares, its too-high walls taunting him with the knowledge that escape is impossible. A frantic look around tells him that it’s empty. Not even Monokuma and his weird cubs are around to delight in the misery that fills him at being here again.

He spots the elevator shaft when he turns, and dashes toward it even though it’s barred off. There has to be some way out of here, he thinks, because dwelling on the thought that there might not be would send him into a panic. He doesn’t think he can handle another minute in this place, the place where he was forced to sentence his friends to death and watch them get torn away from him one by one.

He’s groping around the edges of the iron bars that block his path, praying that there might be some kind of emergency release mechanism, or a secret button to summon the elevator with-

And all of a sudden, he hears a soft rumbling noise from somewhere above him and steps back, startled. The elevator sinks into place, the grate slides away, and out steps a boy with a smile like the sun.

“Yo, Shuuichi! Looks like I finally found ya!” Kaito greets him, upbeat as ever.

Shuuichi doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even need to think. His legs move as if on instinct to close the distance between them. He all but slams into the taller boy, pulling him into a tight hug, and Kaito nearly stumbles before returning it with a laugh. “Hey, take it easy there, man!”

But taking it easy doesn’t seem possible, because Kaito’s arms around him are so warm and solid that Shuuichi almost forgets that none of this is real, and it hits him just how much he missed his best friend.

It takes him a minute to compose himself and peel away from Kaito. “Ah… sorry. It’s just- I’m so happy to see you again, Momota-kun,” Shuuichi says, smiling up at him with watery eyes.

“The feeling’s mutual and all, but… I gotta say, I’m kinda disappointed, Shuuichi.”

Shuuichi blinks. “Huh?”

“You’re running away from your problems again. Running from the truth.” Kaito says, crossing his arms and giving Shuuichi a stern frown. “And you’re better than that.”

Shuuichi’s head bows almost shamefully. “Well… I’m not so sure about that, at this point.”

Kaito scoffs. “What’s there to be unsure about? You’ve handled worse, haven’t ya?”

“It’s- it’s not that simple,” Shuuichi says, hands balling into anxious fists. “Because after all this time, I’m still a coward. Nothing’s changed. Not even after everything you did for me.”

“You idiot,” Kaito interjects, “all I did was give you a little push. Solving all those mysteries, escaping the killing game… that was all you. Not me. I’d say getting through all that shit makes you the opposite of a coward.”

Shuuichi shakes his head. “But- but I wanted to _die_ , Momota-kun. I still do- I mean, I tried to kill myself, and I couldn’t even manage that! I messed it up, just like I mess up everything else-”

“You really piss me off sometimes, you know that?” Kaito cuts in again. Before Shuuichi can react, Kaito has him by the collar, pulling him in until their faces are inches apart and Shuuichi can see the fire lighting up his violet irises. “You really think it would’ve been better if you’d died? What about the others, huh? What about the people who wanted to live, but couldn’t? What about the promises you made to them? Are you seriously ready to just ignore all of that and throw your life away?”

Shuuichi opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He can only stare back at Kaito with wide, stunned eyes as the other boy sets his jaw and continues more quietly, “What about me? And what about Akamatsu? Didn’t we tell you to stand on your own two feet and keep going without us?”

Shuuichi’s lips close again, forming a tight line to prevent them from trembling. Feebly, he nods, and he feels Kaito’s grip on him loosen.

“There’s your reason to live, then,” he says. “If you’ve got time to lay around feeling sorry for yourself, you’ve got time to keep moving forward and become someone you can actually be proud of- even if it’s only one step at a time. Got it?”

He nods once more, and when Kaito finally lets him go, Shuuichi steps right into another hug. This time, however, Kaito only indulges him for a few seconds before taking him by the shoulders and gently pulling him away. “All right, that’s enough of that sappy shit. You’ve got bigger things to worry about now, right?”

“R- Right.” Shuuichi squares his shoulders and stands up a little straighter. “Thank you, Momota-kun.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kaito says with an encouraging grin. Then he stands aside and claps Shuuichi on the back, nudging him in the direction of the elevator. “Go on, now, get outta here.”

Shuuichi starts forward, then hesitates before he can step past the threshold. “You’re not coming with?”

“Nah. Even if I wanted to, I can’t follow you,” Kaito replies. “I get the feeling you’ll be fine without me, though. Call it a gut instinct, or something.”

“If you say so,” Shuuichi murmurs, attempting to mask his uncertainty. “I’ll see you later, then.” He doesn’t know if there will even be a later, but convincing himself that there might be makes it easier to swallow his fear and enter the elevator.

He turns to wave at Kaito, and Kaito flashes him that radiant smile and waves back before the grate closes, separating them once again. Then the elevator lifts, carrying him away from his guiding light and plunging him back into darkness.

\------

Any new year’s celebrations have long since come and gone by the time that Shuuichi is finally released from the hospital with no less than three new prescriptions, a referral for a therapist, and matching scars on his forearms. As such, it’s a little too late for a new year’s resolution, but he makes one anyway, telling himself that it’s better late than never.

He rents out a motel room on the other side of town with the meager belongings left to him by his friends, and he decides to rebuild himself.

Part of him knows that it’s just an excuse to procrastinate seeing Himiko and Maki again. Still, he suppresses that part with more hollow-sounding vows that he’ll take some time to heal, and that he’ll return to them a better man one day. Maybe by then he’ll have an idea of how to begin making up for what he did, too.

(If they even want to see him again, that is, and he’d understand completely if they didn’t.)

In the meantime, he attempts to write them a letter. He figures that it’s the least he can do to let them know that he’s alive, and that all he’s doing is taking some time to himself. So he sits at the desk in the corner of his room, staring at the thin stack of recently purchased notebook paper in front of him and clicking the cheap motel pen in his hand as he gathers his thoughts.

_Dear Yumeno-san and Harukawa-san,_

_First, I should thank you for saving me_

No. That’s not the first thing he should say to them. He crosses out those lines and starts again.

_Yumeno-san and Harukawa-san,_

_First, I want to let you know how sorry I am for what I did. It was a terrible decision in retrospect, and I hope I didn’t upset you too badly._

He lifts his pen again, carding his fingers through his hair in frustration. What a stupid thing to say- of course they're upset with him, and praying that they won't hold it against him won't do him any good. He crumples up the piece of paper and tosses it in the nearby wastebasket with a sigh.

Fruitlessly, he keeps trying and trying and trying, and the wastebasket gets fuller and fuller and fuller. No matter how hard he racks his brain, he can't find the right words to express how sorry he is, nor can he bring himself to make more lofty promises, because that would give them hope and hope is something none of them can afford.

\------

“What’cha doin’, Saihara-chan?”

A chipper voice shocks Shuuichi out of his concentration, prompting him to look up. That’s when he notices that he’s no longer in his motel room, but instead sitting at a desk in a much more nicely furnished room - a room that he instantly recognizes as his own research lab from the Gifted Inmate Academy.

The source of the voice is perched on the edge of the desk, merrily swinging his legs back and forth. Shuuichi frowns at him. “Oh… Ouma-kun. You’re back.”

“Ehh? You don’t seem very excited to see me,” Kokichi observes. “How come?”

“Because all you’ve done thus far is antagonize me,” Shuuichi says. “I’m not here to entertain you.”

“What else could you be here for, though?” Kokichi asks innocently.

Shuuichi doesn’t know. If he knew why his dreams consistently take him to the places he least wants to visit, he’d try to make them stop.

His lack of answer brings a smirk to Kokichi’s face. “I mean, there’s no point in writing letters in your head, is there? You won’t be able to send them. Although,” he taps his chin to feign serious thought, “you have no plans to actually send any letters when you wake up, either, do you?”

Shuuichi’s fingers tighten around his pen. “You don’t know that.”

“Hm, that’s true. You could call it an educated guess, I suppose,” Kokichi hums. “But then, you’ve always managed to defy my expectations, so who can say for sure?”

Not even Shuuichi can say for sure, really. It’s hard to tell whether he’ll even end up finishing a letter at this point.

“That being said,” Kokichi continues, “don’t you think it’s kind of wimpy to send them a letter instead of going and talking to them directly?”

Shuuichi bristles. “I can’t do that.”

“Oh? And why not?”

“You know why.”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Kokichi insists, but the smile on his face leaves Shuuichi unconvinced. “Is it because you’re scared you won’t know what to say? Or maybe…” He leans closer, and Shuuchi tries to lean away, but there’s only so much space he can put between them before the back of his chair stops him. “Maybe you’re scared that they’ll hate you, even if you feel like you deserve it.”

Shuuichi grits his teeth silently, and Kokichi barks out a laugh. “Oh, was I right again? Wow, you’ve really let your guard down, Saihara-chan!”

“Go away, Ouma-kun,” Shuuichi snaps. “I’m tired of playing games with you.”

Kokichi pouts, sitting up straight again. “Aww, but that’s no fun. Besides, it’s not like you were ever really playing with me to begin with.”

“Because none of this is a game to me. You might think it’s funny for me to suffer, but I don’t- regardless of whether or not I deserve it.”

Kokichi suddenly regards Shuuichi with a flat look. “You think I’m here because I like to watch you suffer, Saihara-chan?”

Shuuichi doesn’t answer, his eyes falling to his unfinished letter.

“Hm. That’s a real shame. I thought that maybe after all this time, you of all people would finally understand me,” Kokichi says, a fake smile tugging at his lips. “But I guess even you couldn’t figure me out, huh? Ah, well. That’s my own fault, I suppose.” He bends down again, and this time Shuuichi doesn’t flinch away, not even when he feels Kokichi’s breath on his ear. “Wanna know a secret, Saihara-chan?”

Shuuichi goes rigid, neither moving nor speaking, but he doesn’t need to. Kokichi continues, “It helps to loosen up sometimes. If you take everything too seriously, you’ll never really be able to live. You’ll be like an unfeeling zombie, and that’s how others will see you.”

Then he pulls away with a smile cold enough to send chills down Shuuichi’s spine. “Trust me. I would know.”

\------

Shuuichi wakes up sweating, hunched over a half-finished letter with a winding trail of ink at the end. With shaking hands, he tears it up as though it contained Kokichi’s words, but that does nothing to make them leave his head.

He never does find the right words to put on paper, and he’s not sure what’s worse about that - the guilt that sits like a stone in his gut, or the fact that he proved Kokichi right.

As if to seek some form of absolution, he fills the envelope he’d been planning to use with a stack of bills instead. It’s the last two months’ worth of rent money for the old apartment, withdrawn from the nearest ATM. It doesn’t even come close to making proper reparations, but it’s better than nothing, and it’s proof that he’s still alive (or something like that, anyway).

When he slides it beneath the apartment door, he has to wonder whether they’ll know it’s from him. Will they feel relief? Will they wonder how he’s doing? Will they come looking for him, perhaps? Or will it not make a difference at all?

He assumes the latter, but he fights back the growing urge to knock and tells himself that he’ll come back next month, anyway.

\------

Shuuichi’s best memories of the Gifted Inmate Academy were made in its courtyard, sweating alongside his two closest friends. One of said friends isn’t present, but he finds the other sprawled in the grass with his hands folded behind his head, staring up at the projection of the night sky far above them.

“Yo, Shuuichi,” Kaito greets, patting the space next to him. “C’mere, lie next to me.”

Shuuichi can’t think of a good reason to protest, so he does as he’s told, uncaring that the grass is a little cold and probably damp. He stares up at the stars and thinks to himself that they look real enough, so for the time being, perhaps he can pretend that they are.

Kaito seems intent on doing the same, in any case. “You have a favorite constellation, Shuuichi?”

“Hm… I wouldn’t say that I do. I mean, I’ve never really thought about it,” Shuuichi admits with a little shrug.

“Really?” Kaito hums, not breaking his gaze from the sky. “I’d say that mine’s probably Orion… or maybe Hercules. The ones that get named after heroes are the coolest.” He goes quiet for a minute, his smile starting to wax nostalgic. “It seems kinda silly now, but… when I was a kid, I wanted to be the kind of hero who did things so great that they’d be immortalized in the stars.”

Shuuichi decides to humor Kaito, ignoring the fact that the astronaut’s memories of his childhood are fake. “I don’t think it’s silly. I think… I think it makes sense, to want to have something to be remembered by even after you die.”

“Yeah?” Kaito spares a glance in Shuuichi’s direction. “That’s pretty deep.”

Shuuichi tilts his head to return Kaito’s stare. “Is it?”

“I mean, probably. I thought so, at least.” Kaito’s eyes seem to sparkle when he looks back up, catching the artificial starlight. “But, I gotta say… if anyone else deserves a constellation, it’s you. It’d be right next to mine, of course!”

Shuuichi doesn’t agree. Instead, he thinks of their other friends. He thinks of Kokichi and he thinks of Kaede and that’s when it occurs to him that in all of the strange dreams he’s had, he hasn’t once seen the person whose legacy he tried to shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything about that, though. Until he wakes up, he’s content to talk with Kaito about space and fallen heroes and all of the things that they wanted to be but couldn’t because it just wasn’t written in the stars.

\------  
  


“I’ve been having some… odd dreams, lately.”

“Oh?” His therapist glances up from her clipboard, stilling her pen mid-stroke. Her curious gaze has him shifting his own down to his hands, stiffly folded in his lap, one finger nervously tapping on his knuckles.

This is the third of his once-weekly appointments with Dr. Fujioka and he still isn’t sure if he trusts her yet, but he has no one else to tell (because he’s forsaken anyone else that he possibly could). His nightly visits from his deceased friends have become more frequent, a constant without rhyme nor reason save for the fact that it’s one of the same two people each time. He doesn’t know what it could mean, but it’s occupied his waking thoughts enough to warrant concern at this point.

“What sorts of dreams? Are they bad ones?” Dr. Fujioka continues.

Kaito runs through Shuuichi’s mind with his jacket billowing behind him like a comet’s tail, feet leaving a winding path of stardust down his frontal lobe. “No, they’re not bad,” Shuuichi decides with a shake of his head. “Just… odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Well… I keep seeing people I used to know. People who died during _Dangan Ronpa_.”

“Ah, yes. You did say that you were in that.” Dr. Fujioka cranes her neck forward ever so slightly, interest piqued. “Are these people you were friends with?”

“I… suppose you could say that,” Shuuichi says, trying hard not to think about the unforgivable deeds perpetrated by one of the friends in question, and trying even harder not to think about how that friend had atoned with his life.

“And what sorts of things usually happen in these dreams?”

Shuuichi remembers a pair of sun-warmed arms around him, a pair of cold and frost-white hands caressing his own. “Er, nothing terribly exciting. Normally I just talk with whoever it is for a bit, and then I wake up.”

“I see.” The faint scratching of pen on paper reaches his ears. “What do you normally talk about with them?”

“Uh… different things, I guess. Things usually having to do with me, somehow. Actually… now that I think about it, a lot of times it feels like they’ve come to give me advice or encouragement, or something.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Advice on what, exactly?”

“Well… how to cope with everything that happened, and how to move on… things like that.”

The pen picks up again, more quickly now, and Shuuichi looks up to see Dr. Fujioka recording everything with raised eyebrows. After a minute or so, she stops, and her eyes meet his as she asks, “You’re not a very spiritual person, are you, Saihara-kun?”

“No- I wouldn’t say I am at all, actually,” Shuuichi replies. He can’t remember if he was before the game, either, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter now that he’s witnessed events no benevolent god could possibly sanction.

“Right,” she says with a nod, “I understand. In that case, do you think it’s possible that the reason you keep seeing these friends of yours is because you’re not willing to let go of them?”

Shuuichi regards her cautiously, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Well, these were people who were important to you, right? So perhaps this is your subconscious’s way of trying to keep their memory alive.”

Shuuichi wishes that he could deny that, but he can’t. It’s all too similar to what Kaito and Kokichi have been telling him from the start - he’s a fool desperate to cling to the parts of his past that shaped him, if only because he knows nothing else. He _has_ nothing else, save for two equally broken people who probably want nothing to do with him anymore.

“Saihara-kun.” Dr. Fujioka’s voice is kind as she clicks her pen and sets the clipboard down in her lap. “Do you want the dreams to stop?”

Shuuichi has to think about that. He wonders how he would be faring if he were truly alone, even in his own head, without even fabricated memories of fabricated personalities to convince him that he can get through another day. He wonders if he would still be okay if all the little lights scattered around his headspace flickered out for good.

“No.” He finally says, “I don’t know if it’s healthy to think this way, but… I honestly don’t.”

“It’s understandable, though, given everything you’ve been through.” She brings a hand to her chin, still staring at him intently. “This phenomenon is a bit strange, but I don’t think it will be a problem unless it causes you to have trouble telling what’s real and what isn’t, or makes you want to, ah… to harm yourself again.”

He catches her glancing at the long sleeves of his shirt and rubs self-consciously at the cuffs. “Um. Right.”

Then she straightens in her seat rather suddenly. “Have you ever kept a journal, Saihara-kun?”

The question catches Shuuichi off-guard. He doesn’t remember ever keeping a journal, but maybe he did in his past life - not that it matters, now that his former self is dead. So he shakes his head after a few moments, prompting Dr. Fujioka to continue, “That’s something you could try, if your head is feeling too cluttered and you need to vent.”

“Oh. Yeah, maybe,” he says, and his scars itch, trapped beneath layers of combed cotton. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

But he doesn’t, because everything outside of his head is dreary and everything inside of his head is pitiful and he can’t be bothered to waste paper on it.

\------

March 26th comes all too quickly, and Shuuichi spends it listening to classical piano music on the radio and missing Kaede because he can’t think of anything better to do with himself. What he wouldn’t give to see her again, even if it were just in a dream.

Unfortunately, his mind rarely goes where he wants it to, be it in dreams or during the few hours he spends awake these days. Intrusive thoughts lap like bloody bathwater at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to pull him back under, and no amount of prescribed medication can stop them from seeping into the invisible cracks in his skull. He sees Kaede’s face, smiling, streaked with tears, and he watches it change from red to purple to blue, and then she’s gone and it’s all his fault and it would be so easy to take a belt and put himself in the same state now that there’s no one to stop him.

But he doesn’t. She wouldn’t want that, and especially not on her birthday, of all days.

He gets through it as though it’s any other day - that is to say, with considerable difficulty and little noteworthy activity - and at night his sleep is dreamless and he isn’t sure whether to be disappointed or not. Perhaps he should stop clinging to the shred of feeble hope remaining that she’ll come to visit him in his dreams, too, just as Kaito and Kokichi have. After all, it’s foolish to pine over a ghost, and he should be happy that he still sees any of his friends at all.

(Besides, at this point he’s grown so used to escaping into his dreams for solace that he doesn’t know what he’d do if Kaito or even Kokichi left him again.)

Shuuichi is equally unprepared for Kaito’s birthday, which feels like it's too soon; however, in the evening he leaves his room on an impulse anyway, because he's been itching for a change of scenery and it feels like something Kaito would do.

Going into town and buying his first pack of cigarettes and a lighter is also entirely on an impulse, as is going to the very top of the tallest building in the area to see whether the sky is any clearer up there than it is on the ground. It isn't, really, because the too-bright lights of all the nearby buildings still make the tiny, far-off lights in the sky look dull by comparison, but he can't think of anywhere nearby that would give him a better view.

He's never smoked a day in his life, but his health is already deteriorating and he has nothing to lose, so it can't hurt to try. He holds a cigarette between two fingers the way he's seen people do in the movies, lighting one end and bringing the other to his lips to take an experimental drag from it.

Regret fills him as instantly as the smoke fills his lungs and burns in his throat. He coughs, eyes watering and lips tingling and stomach churning, and he hasn't eaten all day but for a few seconds he fears that he might start spitting up acid. Shakily, he leans against the short concrete wall ringing the roof and waits for the sensation to pass before peering down at the street below.

Cars crawl along the asphalt in uniform lines, ringed by loose crowds of tiny people on either side, rushing to get home from work or evening classes. The distant blaring of horns from below fades into white noise as Shuuichi wonders, however fleetingly, what it would feel like to jump.

He knows what would happen, of course. He knows that he would wind up a bloody smear on the pavement, that there would be nothing left of him to salvage anymore. He knows that had he been able to stand up here months ago, he would have thrown himself over the edge with no hesitation.

His hands start to tremble, twitching and seeking purchase on the cement and he doesn’t know yet whether it’s to ground himself or lift himself higher. Then he feels something on his shoulder, warm and solid, and he whirls fast enough to make himself dizzy.

A shaking breath catches in his throat. There’s no one there.

Caught between disorientation and a surge of vertigo, Shuuichi finds himself sinking to his knees, mouth dry. The cigarette burns on, crushed between his numb fingers, but instead of breathing in smoke he tries to breathe in the unclean city air in the hopes that it will make the tightness in his chest dissipate.

Something whispers in the back of his mind, a fragment of a memory that brings with it the smell of sweat and dew-laced grass. _Breathe in until you count to three, then release, nice and slow._

It’s a simple technique he could have picked up from anywhere, but it always did make exercising easier. It makes calming down easier, too, and after some time he rises on wobbly legs and runs a hand over his greasy forehead, waiting for the dizziness to fade before he musters the courage to take another drag.

He sucks down a lungful of smoke and lets it simmer in his chest, warm and inky as the night surrounding him. _Breathe in, count to three, release._ The dirty cloud seeps from his mouth and nostrils as slowly as he can allow, a drop in a bucket of ever-present pollution. His thoughts go with it, up to the stars, up to the people whose memories he’s bastardized.

His eyes sting, but he blames it on the smoke.

\------

Shuuichi jolts awake in the seat of an empty train car - or at least he assumes it's empty, until a weight shifts next to him and a hand lands on his shoulder, causing him to jump. Startled, he whips his head around, only to be met with a friendly and familiar grin.

Upon seeing who it is, he relaxes almost immediately. “What the hell, Momota-kun?” he puffs, bringing a hand to his chest and trying to slow its frantic thumping. “Don't startle me like that.”

“Oh. Sorry about that,” Kaito says, but his smile doesn’t falter any. “Anyway, how you holdin’ up?”

“Um. Is ‘barely’ an acceptable answer?” Shuuichi asks dryly.

“Acceptable?” Kaito snorts. “Why’re you asking me that?”

“Because-” Shuuichi starts, then turns his face away. “Nevermind. I guess I’m just… not in a very good place right now.”

Kaito’s expression turns serious. “Ah. Is that why you’re still running away?”

Shuuichi’s shoulders stiffen again at the accusation. It’s true, and he knows it’s true, and since there’s nothing he can say in his defense he opts not to respond at all.

Kaito takes this as an invitation to continue, exasperated, “You can’t keep hiding from your problems forever, Shuuichi. One of these days you’ve gotta man up and face ‘em.”

“I know that,” Shuuichi snaps. He closes his eyes and takes a breath so deep that it shakes in his lungs. “I know. But… I’m still figuring out how. It’s not as easy as you make it sound.”

“I never said it was easy. But I put my faith in you for a reason, didn’t I? I know you can do it.” He pauses, and for once, he appears almost hesitant. “You wanna know why I know? ‘Cause… well, you did things that even I couldn’t.”

“Only because you were there for me through it all,” Shuuichi says. “Because I couldn’t do anything on my own. You said it yourself- you made me your assistant because I was weak.”

“And because I wanted you to get stronger. Don’t go forgetting that part,” Kaito reminds him. “I knew you were capable of more than you gave yourself credit for, and look at that! I was right. You even surpassed _my_ expectations of you, which is saying something, since those were pretty fuckin’ high to begin with.” His eyes dart to the side. “I mean, like… why else would I have been jealous of you?”

For a second, Shuuichi feels like he can’t breathe, because the first and last time Kaito admitted to his jealousy it was through a mouthful of blood. He closes his eyes and waits for Kaito’s wobbly, dying, _doomed_ grin to leave his head before he replies. “You had nothing to be jealous of. I did what I needed to under duress, but like I said, I couldn’t manage anything without relying on someone else. Without relying on you. Because in the end, I was just your assistant, and now that’s all I know how to be. Someone who leeches off of other people, strong people like you.”

His words leave deafening silence in their wake, and he doesn’t dare look over to see how Kaito will react to them - that is, until Kaito suddenly rises from his spot next to Shuuichi to stand in front of him, right in the center of the aisle, hands on his hips. “Okay. I see the problem here.”

Shuuichi tilts his head up to face him, stunned. “What?”

“The problem here is that I never let you see me as an equal. I always had to pretend that I was on top so that I wouldn’t feel overlooked whenever you did something cool,” Kaito explains, then grimaces. “God, saying it out loud makes it sound even more pathetic. Pretty fuckin’ lame of me, huh?”

“Well,” Shuuichi attempts to reason, “I wouldn’t say that it was entirely-”

“No. I don’t need you to try and downplay it for me. I can take responsibility for that much, at least. So,” he says, extending a hand, “first things first- get up.”

Shuuichi glances from Kaito's face to his outstretched hand, confused, before cautiously taking it. Kaito pulls him up, then steps aside to leave more room behind himself, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance as the floor of the train rattles faintly beneath his feet. “And now,” he continues, spreading his arms for dramatic effect, “I want you to hit me.”

Unsure that he heard the other boy correctly, Shuuichi blinks hard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I said you gotta hit me. That’ll make us even, won’t it?"

Shuuichi frowns. “How do you figure that?”

“Well, I hit you before, didn’t I? I mean, I apologized and all, but I don’t think that was enough to really make up for it- or some of the other shitty things I did, for that matter,” he says, then bends forward a bit and invitingly curls his hands inwards. “So now I’m giving you a chance to get back at me. Come at me with everything you’ve got, Shuuichi!”

“But… what will that accomplish?” Shuuichi asks, no less bewildered than before. “I mean, you’re already…” He grimaces, not finishing his statement.

“So what? That doesn’t mean it’s too late for you to get some closure,” Kaito insists. “You’re still carrying some of the resentment you felt back then, aren’t ya?”

“I- I guess?” Shuuichi stammers, “But I don’t want to hit you- I don’t think I ever have, really.”

“You sure about that?” Kaito’s gaze is hard and incredulous. “Not even once? Not after I gave you shit for doing the right thing and saving our asses? Not even after I fucking abandoned you?”

“No. I blamed myself for that, just like I blamed myself for everything else,” Shuuichi says, finding that he can no longer meet Kaito’s eyes. “I wasn’t… I could never be mad at you.”

“God, you really haven’t changed much, have ya?” Kaito steps closer, fists clenching. “How long are you gonna lay around feeling miserable? When are you gonna get angry at someone besides yourself?”

“What will that solve?” Shuuichi asks, “Why do you want me to be mad at you so badly?”

“Because it’s better than watching you bottle it all up, dammit!” Kaito huffs. “You need to channel all that pain and frustration that you’re feeling somewhere besides yourself. _Do_ something with it, y’know?” He jabs a thumb at himself. “Which is why this would do you some good. I mean, it’s not like you need to worry about hurting me anyway, since I’m-”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Shuuichi cuts him off with a wince. “I get it.” He doesn’t entirely get it, actually, but there are a lot of things that he still doesn’t get about Kaito and probably never will. That’s just the kind of person Kaito was, he thinks - reckless, idealistic, and nonsensical - but he was also the gravity that kept Shuuichi anchored when he needed it most.

Maybe that’s why Shuuichi decides to crack his knuckles and go along with Kaito’s absurd logic this time. He thinks about the way his face ached after Kaito hit him. He thinks about the time Kaito threatened to hit him again and how somehow, that ached even worse. He thinks about how Kaito wouldn’t look him in the eye or call him by his given name anymore after Gonta died.

He thinks about how Kaito told him to live, even as he began to burn out like the stars he loved so much, hypocrite that he was.

Kaito is grinning at him even now, challenging him. So Shuuichi grits his teeth, just like Kaito told him to all those months ago, and he swings. His fist connects with Kaito’s jaw hard enough to send pain shooting up to his wrist, and hard enough to leave Kaito reeling, holding a hand to his cheek in shock.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Kaito murmurs, eyeing Shuuichi with a kind of awe. “You do know how to throw a punch.”

Shuuichi almost smiles. Almost. “You didn’t think I could?”

“I wasn’t sure if you would, actually. But… damn, that smarts.” He rubs the side of his face, his smile returning. “Well then… I’d say that makes us about even, yeah?”

Shuuichi’s knuckles sting. “Sure.”

“And how do you feel now?”

“... Better. Just little bit,” Shuuichi settles on, rubbing his sore hand. “My hand kind of hurts, though.”

Kaito laughs, boisterous as always. Then, to Shuuichi’s surprise, he steps forward to envelop him in a hug. “But you’re okay. It’ll pass, right? You’re strong, stronger than you let yourself realize.”

When Shuuichi closes his eyes, he can almost believe that, just for a second.

And then he feels the train shudder to a stop, and when he opens his eyes again Kaito is gone, replaced by a crowd of total strangers who have no words of encouragement to give him. It’s all he can do at that point to keep his head down and wipe at the moisture streaking his face and try not to think about the reason it’s there.

\------

It takes Shuuichi another month to work up the resolve to visit the cemetery.

He has his reasons for having avoided it, of course. It sets his mind running, replaying interviews and funerals and weeks upon weeks spent in a hospital. He’s too tired, too haunted to begin with.

Now, though, he figures that he has nothing left to lose. He’s already opened the door to his heart and let the dead take up residence there; at this point, no ghost could scare him.

He leaves at night, as he does more often than not for fear of being recognized, and treks down darkened rows of headstones with three bouquets - one each for the two people who still grace his unconscious mind, and one for the person he’d give anything to see again. He does his best not to linger around Kaito’s or Kokichi’s graves for too long - the former because he might cry, and the latter because he might do something ridiculous like apologize.

He finds himself staring at Kaede’s, though, her bouquet still cradled in his arms. There are so many things that he wants to say to her, so many that he doesn’t know where to even begin. He wants to confide in her. He wants to ask her for help, even though that’s all he ever did and it ended up costing her her life. He wants to say that he’s sorry.

And so he doesn’t say anything at all. He sits down with no regard for any grass stains he might get (he hasn’t done any laundry in two weeks, anyway) and places the bouquet before her, like an offering.

Then he hears a soft rustle, the displacement of grass followed by the fast-fading thumping of footsteps. He whips his head around and catches only a silhouette, small and lithe, unmistakably long hair trailing behind it in twin tails before it disappears from his line of sight completely.

He blinks, stunned. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe his dreams have bled into reality and he’s finally losing it. That wouldn’t come as a surprise to him at this point. It would at least be easier to believe than the notion that Maki Harukawa came to a graveyard in the middle of the night to pay her respects to people who, for the most part, she didn’t care about.

Or maybe it’s a sign. A sign of what, exactly? He has no clue, but it feels significant, somehow.

He stares down Kaede’s headstone again as though it could answer for him, and when it doesn’t he gets to his feet with a sigh. For a few seconds he struggles for something to say, as though she’d actually be able to hear him, only to settle on an awkwardly whispered “Goodbye.”

It feels like that’s all he’s ever able to say, nowadays.

\------

When Shuuichi wakes up in the cold, dark confines of a locker, his first instinct is to panic. He slams the door open with a loud, metallic _clang_ and all but tumbles out of it, disoriented and afraid.

A precursory glance around tells him that this classroom is familiar, and not just because it’s a part of the Gifted Inmate Academy. This is the very classroom he first woke up in, the place where he met Kaede Akamatsu and proceeded to shriek at her. That would almost be funny in retrospect if the atmosphere of the place didn’t fill him with a sinking feeling of dread.

Cautiously, he gets to his feet and heads for the door. He isn’t sure where he’s headed, exactly, but he is sure that he can’t stay here a minute longer. Perhaps he’ll even find a way out - not that he’s betting on that.

His footsteps echo too loud in the empty hallways, ricocheting off the weathered tiles and amplifying the static in his brain. He’s alone, from what he can tell, and he’s not sure if that’s what he wants.

Still, he lacks the courage to call out, so he remains quiet. Gradually, the static fizzles out of his eardrums, and a new sound altogether filters in. Soft, lilting, _familiar_. It winds its way around nearby corridors and fills his chest with an aching sort of nostalgia. He closes his eyes for a moment and sees sunlight dancing across smooth wooden desks, feels a warm hand curl itself around his.

Without thinking, he breaks into a run.

Instinctively, he knows where the tune is coming from. The soft chords swimming in his head could only originate in one place, after all, so he doesn’t stop until he comes to a door painted ebony and ivory to resemble piano keys.

Recognition brings him pause, and he pants in front of the SHSL Pianist’s research lab for several moments, simply listening to the muffled music coming from within. Then, hope or something like it stirs his motivation, prompting him to swallow hard and push the door open despite his fear.

The playing stops. A blonde head lifts in his direction, and the pianist graces him with a smile as radiant as the light gleaming off of the piano’s polished surface. “Oh! Hello, Saihara-kun. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Akamatsu-san,” Shuuichi murmurs, quiet for fear that his voice will crack under the weight of his emotions. He takes a few brave strides forward before stopping, at a loss.

For so long he had wanted nothing more than to meet her again, but now that it’s happening he doesn’t know what to say. Every word he’s thinking sits so heavy on his tongue that he can’t fathom where to even begin.

As always, she answers for him. “You aren’t going to just stand there, are you?” she teases, but her eyes are kind. She inches to the side and pats the space next to her. “Come sit with me.”

He doesn’t think he could refuse the offer even if he wanted to, so he timidly approaches the piano and settles on the edge of the cushioned bench. Kaede folds her hands in her lap, and her gaze is searching when she turns just enough to face him. “Is there something on your mind, Saihara-kun? You look like something’s bothering you.”

“It’s nothing,” he assures her, bashfully ducking his head. “Just… I missed you, is all.”

“I see.” Her eyes shift to the keys, wistful. “But I’m not the only one, am I?”

Shuuichi freezes. He wants to ask how she knew that, but he thinks better of it and says instead, “I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” She laughs, but it sounds almost sad.

“A lot of things.”

She shakes her head. “You’re still too hard on yourself.”

“That’s the same thing everyone else is telling me.”

“Maybe they’re onto something, then,” she reasons. “Maybe you should listen.”

He can’t come up with a rebuttal to that.

“Saihara-kun.” She gently places a hand over one of his and continues, “I’m happy to see you again, but… there are others who’d like to see you again, too. Others you can still see when you’re awake.”

He almost flinches away. “You don’t know that.”

“But I do. And you know it, too. Right?” Shuuichi’s features crinkle, and Kaede gives his hand a feather-light squeeze. “They’re probably really worried about you. They’ve already forgiven you, so how much longer is it going to take for you to forgive yourself?”

Once again, Shuuichi doesn’t give any response, but he doesn’t think she was expecting one. She shifts to wrap both her arms around him, pulling him into a hug, and all he can do is let his head fall onto her shoulder and hope that his eyes don’t leak onto her sweater vest.

(That’s a stupid thing to worry about, though. She isn’t real, none of this is, none of it ever has been.)

“So,” she whispers, lips too close to his ear, “do you know what you want to do next?”

He nods. He’s known for a long time, actually, since the moment his past began to bleed into his dreams. It was always a matter of finding the willpower to pursue his desires more than anything else.

Slowly, he peels himself away and wipes at his eyes. “I… Thanks. For this, I mean, but… for everything else, too, I guess.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she chuckles. Then she lifts her hands to the keys again, precise and delicate. “Why don’t I play something to lighten the mood a bit? I could let you pick something, even.”

Shuuichi knows that he could list a few pieces off the top of his head if he wanted to, but instead he decides, “You can just keep playing what you were playing before, if you want. It… it sounded really good.”

She beams at him and picks up where she left off. The same sweet melody from before, the one he’s listened to countless times now, engulfs him as a hug would, and he closes his eyes so that he can focus on the way it sounds. For a short while, at least, he can convince himself that he is content.

But like everything else, the song gradually fades out, leaving him with nothing but the static in his head and a shadow of conviction.

\------

It’s been six months since Shuuichi left.

Or something like that, anyway. He’s barely managed to track the passage of time in his stagnant state, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter at this point. Not anymore.

Shuuichi shoves his meager belongings into the bag he took with him from the hospital: his clothes, his wallet, the toothbrush he hasn’t used nearly enough, bottles of prescribed medication, empty syringes for his hormones, and a half-empty pack of cigarettes. He checks out of his dingy motel room, and he boards the soonest train home.

Approaching the apartment door that used to be his isn’t the hard part. It’s summoning the courage to knock.

It takes him a good five minutes to do so, clenching and unclenching his clammy fists and reciting greetings and apologies under his breath in equal measure. He takes in a deep breath through his nose and holds it, lifting his arm to deliver a couple of swift raps to the wooden surface.

The silence that stretches on after that seems infinite, and his nerves start to coil, gripping his chest and circling his stomach. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Maybe they’re not even home. Maybe they moved out in his absence and he was left without a clue. Maybe-

Then the door swings open, bringing his racing thoughts to an abrupt halt. Maki Harukawa stands before him, blank-faced, and Shuuichi isn’t sure whether to be relieved or even more nervous.

“H-Hi, Harukawa-san,” he stammers, his pre-planned heartfelt speech fleeing with whatever remains of his foolish courage. “It’s… been a long time. I don’t really know what I can do to make it up to you and Yumeno-san for what I-”

Maki cuts him off by locking her arms around him like a vise and burying her face in his shoulder. “Welcome home.”

Shuuichi doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know if he can even speak, at this rate.

But he doesn’t need to. Himiko barrels over with a shout of surprised delight and throws her arms around the both of them, and Shuuichi’s vision starts to blur with tears. For once, they weren’t born of pain or sorrow. For once, they’re happy tears, streaking his cheeks to match the others.

For once, Shuuichi starts to feel like he’ll be all right.

\------

“... Happy birthday to yooouuu!” Three voices sing in unison.

Shuuichi smiles, pleased but embarrassed. “Thank you all, but… are you sure it's really my birthday?”

“Of course it is!” Kokichi chirps, swinging his legs in his chair with childish excitement. “... Unless Momota-chan got it wrong, that is.”

Kaito bristles from Shuuichi’s side. “Hey, how the fuck would that be my fault?”

Kaede shushes them both with a frown. “Could you two please try to get along for once? I think Saihara-kun deserves that much on his birthday, at least.” Then she returns her attention to Shuuichi again, smiling. “Don't tell me you forgot about your own birthday, silly. It just passed midnight, so it's the seventh now!”

“Oh.” In all honesty, Shuuichi had forgotten. Whether it's because the days have all started blurring together or because it didn't really matter to him to begin with, he isn't sure.

“That's beside the point, though,” Kaito cuts in, giving Shuuichi a friendly slap on the shoulder. He gestures to the lopsided vanilla cake sitting on the dining table before him. “Go on and blow out the candles!”

“Nishishi… You sound like a little kid, Momota-chan.”

“Oh, shuddup!”

Shuuichi can't help but laugh a bit and shake his head. “All right, all right.”

He snuffs out all of the little flames with one fierce puff of air and dreams of what it would feel like to be truly happy. The others cheer.

“So, what’d you wish for?” Kaito asks.

“You're not supposed to ask that, dummy,” Kokichi says. “It's bad luck.”

“Hey, who’re you calling dumb-”

“Okay, that's enough!” Kaede scolds, wagging her pointer finger at them. “What did I just say?”

Kokichi rolls his eyes and Kaito slumps back in his chair with a scowl, but they both begrudgingly comply, and Kaede claps her hands together once with satisfaction. “Good. Now, it's time to cut the cake!”

It doesn’t taste like anything, but he eats it anyway. Kokichi brings out a bowl of strawberry ice cream to accompany his slice of cake, and Shuuichi is struck with a pang of déjà vu.

“You know,” he speaks up again on impulse when there’s no longer anything to keep his mouth occupied, “I should really thank you guys. You helped me realize a lot of things, and made me come to my senses more than once. Truthfully, I… I don’t know where I’d be without any of you.”

The others go quiet and exchange a glance, and Shuuichi starts to wonder if he said something wrong. Then Kaito shakes his head and reaches to ruffle Shuuichi’s hair. “Idiot. You’d be fine- that was all you in the end, after all.”

“He’s right,” Kaede agrees. “In the end, you’re the one driving your own future, right?”

“Besides, you were never too keen on letting me tell you what to do,” Kokichi chimes in. “You’re a big boy, Saihara-chan. You can make your own decisions from here on out.”

“I see,” Shuuichi says, staring at his empty paper plate. “Yeah… yeah, I guess you’re right.”

He knows that this is a lie. This fantasy he’s constructed, this projection of an abandoned dining hall, these people who care about him. But the arm that Kaito slings around his shoulders is as tangible as it always was, and Kaede’s hug is as warm as he remembers. Even Kokichi prances over from his spot across the table to throw his skinny arms around Shuuichi’s neck from behind, and Shuuichi has long outgrown his desire to push him away.

This lie is a beautiful one, a peaceful one, so he makes a point to enjoy it for as long as it lasts.

\------

It’s the last time he sees them.

Maki and Himiko throw him a birthday party of about the same caliber, complete with shitty cake and cheap balloons. He wonders fleetingly as he reads the butchered icing kanji of his name if this is what it’s like to be happy, if only for a little while.

Life goes on as it always does, and he lets it pull him along with it. He can take solace in the fact that, at the very least, he’s no longer alone.

With time, his scars fade to white along with everything he knew before _Dangan Ronpa._ With time, he hurts a little less.

**Author's Note:**

> big shoutout to my beta readers for all their help and encouragement, especially ikuzonos! 
> 
> this wasn't originally intended to be for shuuichi's birthday, but his birthday provided as good an excuse as any to finish and polish it and put it up here. with as long as it is, i put quite a bit of work into it, and i'm pretty satisfied with the result... that said, any comments and kudos are very much appreciated! thanks for reading!


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